Chapter 52: [FIND THE BOSS]

“You look nervous,” Caelen remarked as their footsteps echoed along the only path the crypt allowed, the stale air pressing in from every side.

Eli cast him a sidelong glance. “The ground shook earlier, Caelen. Aren’t you the least bit concerned? We don’t know where we are, or where the gate is. The drones are gone.”

He kept his tone even, but there was an edge beneath it—a subtle prod. He wanted Caelen to connect the dots himself, to realize how wrong this dungeon felt.

The S-Class hunter had already admitted earlier that the aura here was different. That alone should’ve been a red flag.

“Events like these are normal in dungeons,” Caelen replied coolly. “It could just be the work of the boss. Not something to get worked up about.”

’Usually events like that only happen because the boss is nearby, but—’

Eli stopped himself before his thoughts spiraled further. His chest was already tightening, and if he let his mind run wild, panic would follow.

He couldn’t fully blame Caelen—on the surface, this could look like just another mid-raid anomaly. But Eli knew better.

Because the last time he’d been in an S-Class dungeon… he died.

And now it was just him and Caelen.

No backup.

No guaranteed exit.

And a boss that would, without question, be an S-Class threat.

“It looks like this is a hidden crypt,” Caelen said, sweeping his flashlight toward the towering stone columns.

Faded carvings sprawled across the walls—warped figures and distorted faces etched in disturbing detail.

Eli didn’t bother to study them this time. The longer he looked, the heavier his nerves became, as if the art itself pressed on his mind.

The deeper they ventured, the thicker the air felt, until—

A sharp twitch ran through Eli’s skull. His breath hitched. His Danger Detection had gone off.

And this time… the threat appeared almost immediately.

It was everywhere yet again.

The pulse of danger felt denser, heavier than it had with the grotesques earlier.

Whatever was ahead, it was worse.

Eli’s hand shot out, grabbing Caelen’s coat and pulling him to a stop.

Caelen looked back at him, brow creasing. “What is it?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh fucking no.

Eli’s eyes widened, and his grip slackened until his phone nearly slipped from his hand. “C-Caelen… I need you to not move.”

His voice was low but taut, every syllable tight with urgency.

“Why?”

“Because my senses are telling me if we move right now… they’re going to attack,” Eli whispered. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, locked on the faint, glinting shapes peering at them from the dark.

Dozens of them. Eyes—cold, unblinking—set in unmoving faces.

Caelen didn’t turn his head, but his eyes followed Eli’s line of sight. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.

Eli had no idea if those things had been there the entire time, silently watching, or if they had materialized from the shadows just now.

“I think we’ve found the common theme for the monsters in this dungeon,” Caelen murmured.

And then the full picture came into view.

Not one. Not two. Not even three or ten.

At least twenty.

No—more.

Towering gargoyle statues lined the path ahead and along the walls, each frozen in grotesque poses.

None were identical; some crouched low, some loomed high above, their demonic, bat-like wings curling from their backs like jagged blades.

And Eli knew—without question—that they weren’t just statues.

Like the grotesques earlier, these things had life.

They were monsters.

Big ones. All of them easily as tall as him, most of them bigger. Their stone claws looked sharp enough to carve through steel, and their teeth, bared in eternal snarls, glimmered faintly under the thin beams of light.

The crypt was silent. Too silent.

Eli’s skin prickled.

“This is an A-Class level threat?” Caelen muttered under his breath, lips curling faintly. “Jacking Off would’ve died here if they had come.”

God.

Eli hated how much he wanted to laugh at that. He really hated it.

’Why am I like this?’

But there was no time for childish humor now.

“My senses are telling me not to move,” Eli murmured, eyes fixed on the rows of looming gargoyles. “If we so much as take a step, they’ll attack all at once. But it’s not like we can just stand here forever…”

The gargoyles hadn’t twitched—not a claw, not a wing—yet the oppressive weight of their presence was suffocating. Eli could feel it, that massive swell of danger pressing in from all sides, heavy enough to crush bone.

“I can try attacking one or two, see what happens,” Caelen suggested casually, as if proposing a quick spar.

Eli’s head snapped toward him. “There’s still a chance they all attack you at once.”

“That’s no problem,” Caelen replied with unshakable calm. “As creepy as they look, they’re still only monsters from an A-Class dungeon.” His golden eyes slid toward Eli. “I can handle them.”

’That’s not—’ Eli’s frustration burned at the edges, but before he could finish, a flicker of motion caught his eye.

He froze.

The gargoyles had moved.

It wasn’t much—just a shift in posture, the faint scrape of stone against stone—but it was enough to make his breath hitch.

He and Caelen locked eyes for a fraction of a second before both turned their gaze back to the statues.

The moment their attention fixed on them, the gargoyles were utterly still again.

Eli’s voice came out low, tense. “Weren’t they just—”

“Yes,” Caelen said, his tone clipped.

“You don’t think they’re…”

“We can check.”

Caelen deliberately turned his head away from them, and Eli hesitated before following suit. His skin prickled with unease.

The instant they looked away—

SKRRTCH.

The scrape was louder this time, closer.

They spun back, and Eli’s stomach dropped. The gargoyles were no longer where they had been.

They had closed the distance—some by several meters—and were frozen once again, their stone faces twisted into sharper snarls, claws extended just a little further than before.

“So that’s how it is…” Eli whispered, throat dry.

He wasn’t sure if the confirmation made him feel relief… or something far, far worse.

Because now, every instinct he had was screaming the same thing:

’They move whenever we look away from them.’

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